With All My Heart
by elfx9
Summary: I've added a second chapter... just more drabbles, cos I quite enjoyed writing them. Chapter 2 from Ste's POV, Chapter 1 from Brendan's. Never tried this style before, so bear with me. Hope you enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

His legs are draped across you, as if he hasn't a care in the world. His cheek is squashed against your chest, his mouth open in sleep, his long eyelashes spread over his skin. His fingers trail absentmindedly though your chest-hair. He sniffs, his nose wrinkles, he shuffles and turns over. Now his back is pressed right up against your side like he can't break the body-contact for even a second. You're not used to sleeping all close and cuddled up like this, and you fear it doesn't suit you. Not that he'd let you stop, even if you tried.

XOXOXO

When Steven cooks, he becomes animated in that way that you love and hate in equal measure. He exhausts you sometimes, with his energy. He wants more of everything; more chatter, more enthusiasm for the most menial of things. More sex; even when you've _just_ climaxed. More cooperation, more confirmation; declarations that you love him. You give him all of it, even if it's not natural for you. Even then, he'll find things to kick off about. Sometimes you think he likes the arguing; the fire of it. You catch him smiling sometimes, when he gets you stressed. Cheeky fucker.

XOXOXO

Something has upset him. You can tell by the way his eyes gloss and his smile doesn't reach his eyes the way it usually does. It hurts you that while you've been apart, running separate businesses, some fucker has broken his heart somehow– however small or insignificant. You want to break that fuckers legs, whoever it is, for whatever they said, even if they didn't mean to cause him offence. Steven's quiet about it, but eventually asks you if you think he's stupid. That's a stupid question. You tear his insecurities away with a kiss, which'll soon have him forget.

XOXOXO

In public, the two of you contrast. He's drunk tonight. It makes him more gobby and confident; He rabbits on to Amy and co, while you sit silently, a protective arm draped around the back of his chair. He laughs and spills drink down himself, and glows red. '_I'm dead drunk, aren't I?' _He mumbles to you, embarrassed. When ready to leave, he stumbles, and you take his whole weight. He's light as a feather, but you feign disdain. You lay him on the bed, help him undress and end up watching him sleep. But nobody need know about that.

XOXOXO

Sometimes he tries to be sexy for you. It's amusing… not that you tell him that. In reality he's sexiest when he doesn't try; when he's coy, or shy. When his tongue swipes across his lip in anticipation and he tries to cover that he can't take his eyes off you. He lies beneath you, stripped naked by you, waiting, sometimes begging for you. He'll deny that in his more conscious state. His legs fold around you, and he takes you completely in; gives himself wholeheartedly, and tells you he loves you with raw openness that leaves you in awe.


	2. Chapter 2

You often wonder how you look together. Brendan with his muscles, his expensive suits, confident swagger. You look like a scruff next to him… you know that. On the rare occasions that you've met his business associates, you've felt self-conscious; young, inexperienced. You've sat with them in meetings before, and they've barely acknowledged you – these men with sharp suits and fat wallets. But Brendan always does. His eyes meet yours across the table; glimmering with a hidden smirk. A secretive roll of the eyes. And you know you belong here, then. Brady's better half. The most superior one at the table.

XOXOXOXOX

Brendan's cooked you dinner tonight. It's the little things – little moments like this that make you feel the most happy … the most proud of him. You'd never say so, because he'd only retreat into himself. Tonight he barely notices how domesticated he's behaving, as he lays the beans on toast down in front of you – Brendan's 'speciality'. He's even managed to burn the bloody toast, but that's ok. He scoffs his down much faster than you, then gets impatient and doesn't let you finish… he drags you to the bedroom. This is where his _actual _talents come into play.

XOXOXOXOX

He can't make his way through a film. You have discovered this about him. No matter where you are – sofa, bed… the odd occasion you've got him into a cinema… he ALWAYS falls asleep. During the most dramatic car-chase, you're on the edge of your seat; you turn to him, expecting enthusiasm, and there he is gently snoring. His arm still wrapped protectively around your waist. You tease him for being an old man, and he pretends not to care but you reckon it secretly gets to him, that… which you love about him. But you'll never tell him that.

XOXOXOXOX

Christmas Day, he doesn't kiss or even touch you much. His family have come: Declan, Eileen, Padraig. You feel slightly out-of-place, and Brendan acting unnaturally casual with you doesn't help. You get Eileen's cold shoulder all day. Later, you creep into the bedroom to get away, crawling into the unmade bed you share together. The door creaks open and he comes in. He crawls in with you, wraps his arms around you, kisses the back of your neck. His heart's beating fast, like he's just as uncomfortable; just as out-of-place. "Thanks for this" he whispers. You are his rock.

XOXOXOXOX

The trouble with his bedroom being right next to the kitchen is the noise travels. You've had to stop mid-sex on several occasions because Cheryl has bounded into the kitchen and - oblivious – remained there for hours. And you are loud during sex. Today you lie there, interrupted. Both still, silent, pressed against each other, sweating, frustrated. He whispers in your ear, so quiet you almost don't hear, "We need our own place." You turn and look at him in surprise – his eyes piercing… dead serious. Nothing can stop you after that. Damn the noise, and the unfortunate kitchen placement.


	3. Chapter 3

What the… fuck was that? You open your eyes groggily, a grouchy moan escapes your lips, and you swat away whatever that painful disturbance was on your face. Somewhere away from your stupor, Steven is laughing. And then the sensation again… abrupt and weird and intrusive… and right on your nose. He's only gone and _bitten it_… and with a gleeful glint in his eyes, which you can't work out as humorous or malicious? You are confused… and too tired for his weirdness tonight; the post-coital weight is dragging you to sleep. He'll be the death of you, one day.

XOXOXO

When he's sick, he becomes – if possible – more small and delicate to you than he usually is. And he becomes more infuriatingly stubborn as well; fighting you off, growling at you as if it's somehow _your_ fault he's bedbound for the day. His eyes get watery and red, his skin ghostly white, and even though he's snapping at you, his fingers wrap themselves around your wrist for comfort – his subconscious movements contradicting his insistence that he can 'look after himself'. By the end, his heads buried against your chest, and he shamelessly sniggers when his snot stains your best suit.

XOXOXO

Someone (you highly suspect it was Douglas) told him that he looks ridiculous when he wears your clothes, and now he's stopped putting on that jumper of yours that made him look so delectable. It was slightly ill-fitting on you, so it practically _swamped_ him – but he looked cute in it, if you dare use the word. He used to flaunt around the bedroom in it with nothing underneath – and you'd always think of him like that when you saw him wear it at work. You thought he'd chucked it, till you found it under his pillow. The daft creep.

XOXOXO

Steven's taste in music has always been a sore spot in your relationship. He rolls his eyes at the _proper _music you listen to and brands you 'old' for merely having taste, while he screeches along out-of-tune to the worst crap you've ever heard. You've never found a compromise. Saving grace is that, after a few drinks, he somehow manages to lose himself in that crap he listens to, and his arms flail madly and bum wiggles ridiculously, and he knows you're loving it, and hams it up for you. Britney soundtracks your fuckathon that night – but it's worth it.

XOXOXO

You bought him a car and booked him a few lessons for Christmas. He can pretty much drive anyway, he just needs tidying up a bit – or so you thought. Turns out, he's a fucking maniac on the roads. And as much as it tarnishes your image to do so… you find yourself shouting out for him to slow down… and even feel the small creep of panic enter your gut as he plummets round the corner, James-Bond-style. You _never _should have gotten this madman a car, and he's positively gleeful by your reaction – laughing his head off at you.


End file.
